


Figures from Afar

by summerwines



Series: onward, through all the roads [2]
Category: Gravity Falls, ParaNorman (2012)
Genre: M/M, POV Multiple, Private Investigators, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-24 03:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/934577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerwines/pseuds/summerwines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Norman and Dipper are gone, but they always feel present to everyone they leave behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Figures from Afar

**Author's Note:**

> Voila, a contribution for Parapines Day. It's an AU where Dipper and Norman are private investigators. Standalone, but can also be treated as an aside to my old fic Traverse in Trance. No need to have read it. 
> 
> (Side note: I am so happy this fandom's lasted for more than a year?? Yep, I remember how I introduced myself, with that dark incestuous OT3 fic: my version of a good first impression. Good times, good times.)

**1.**

She is only interested in the first two things that appear on the search results: A news article and a blog entry.

Angela Marquez writes the first. Two photos accompany the piece. One is of the house where the crime was committed. The other is of the place where the body was uncovered.

At a rich community in Connecticut, there's a woman whose husband went missing. Gone with him are the slabs of money kept in a supposedly secret safe behind a bookshelf.

Two private investigators were the only ones with enough cunning to solve the case. They found the body, buried four miles away from the community, and they were able to name a suspect with only a few pieces of evidence. Their methods are unknown to the police.

Courtney Babcock knows very well that her brother is a cheater and a liar. Though she means that in the best way possible. He cheats and he lies, for the sake of the greater good.

She’s been trying to contact him, again and again, but he won’t answer his phone, won’t answer his emails. The family misses him to bits, and his father wants to apologize for being a twat, for leaving things the way he did. Courtney believes he’s sincere, so using all the power she has with her, she tries to get in touch with Norman and his, well, _boyfriend_ , Dipper Pines.

Her apartment is compact, with almost all her things in a single room. She has no desk, so she uses her laptop on the bed. Her dining table is just a meter away. A TV is set up right before the countertops and the oven. Her work as the editor’s assistant at Harper’s Bazaar doesn’t allow her a large budget, so she thinks this tiny place is enough. She’s lucky, even.

Though, she does miss home. She remembers the last few months she lived there. They were also the months where this boy came to stay with them. It was a boy Norman met at a comic convention almost two years before. They’d been sending emails to each other, meeting at random times, meeting at every convention they could go to. Courtney knew nothing about it.

Courtney runs through the blog entry, and she muses at the content, seeing the picture of Dipper Pines, all convoluted and panicked, looking like he’d seen a ghost (which is pretty likely, considering).

The blog entry is comprised of mostly photos, of different places the private investigators were spotted in.

The first is in Alabama, where Dipper Pines stands wide-eyed and shaking by a tall tree, police around him, Norman embracing him.

The second is at a truck stop outside of Chicago. A fanboy was in the shot with them, the boy wearing an Inspector Gadget t-shirt. Dipper was in his normal clothes, the hat, the vest, and the shorts. Norman was wearing a tank top and tight pants. Courtney thinks he looks ridiculous.

The third is at Sunset Boulevard, and this time, they have a girl with them. The girl wears a pink sweater, waist-high shorts, and star-shaped earrings. She has arms around both of them.

The girl is there again in fourth picture, and Courtney realizes that she is not just a fan. Dipper and Norman probably know her. Their figures are blurred, in the picture, because they’re on motorcycles, rushing forward through the L.A. road. The caption says this was the investigators on the chase, accompanied by an unknown assistant.

Courtney searches, again, because she might just have encountered a breakthrough.

She searches through other blogs, other albums, other Facebook pages, in the hopes that maybe, one of them will have a name.

It’s there, _thank god_ , in a certain blog named “Dipper Pines Addiction” (It’s funny. It really is.).

“Oh—Oh, I see—“ Mabel Pines is the girl’s name. Dipper’s sister. “That explains a lot.”

She has it. She has a name. She has a lead. Courtney smiles. _I’ve got you now, little brother_ , she thinks, and she has to giggle. This must be what it feels like – kind of – to be a sleuth, like them.

 

 

**2.**

He gets Courtney’s text message during his class on American Literature in the 20th century. They’re reading Jack Kerouac’s On The Road, and it reminds him of Norman’s sheer determination to just get away from their damn town, all those years ago.

Neil gets the text message and he sighs. Yeah, Courtney’s got a contact. Courtney’s got a girl willing to call up Dipper Pines and tell him to get their asses down to Blithe Hollow. But, Neil isn’t convinced Norman will be willing to do it. Neil thinks the guy won’t ever come back, because he seems happy wherever he is, and Blithe Hollow might just spoil it.

His thoughts linger. His thoughts always lingered, when it came to his once best friend.

He no longer listens to his professor, and he’s going to get in trouble, because he’s writing a whole paper on Kerouac novels and this lecture’s pretty crucial to it. Dammit, he thinks. Dammit, Norman.

Neil is in grad school. He’s an adult. He has no time to think about best friends who run away with boyfriends.

When Neil gets back to his apartment, he’s surprised by what’s given to him by his roommate. It’s mail, apparently. A postcard. A Blithe Hollow postcard with the Witchy Weiners logo.

“Oh, wowee,” Neil says, as he jumps onto his bed, pushing away all the dirty socks, pushing away the empty pizza box.

 _See you soon, Neil._ That’s all it says. But it makes Neil smile.

He thinks Norman is a weenie. A giant one. Really, he is. Dipper probably put him up to this. Though, Neil doesn’t really know. Things change. Norman might’ve grown some balls.

Neil laughs when he remembers how Witchy Weiners was the last place he saw his best friend. It was two years ago, back in his undergraduate years. Neil was sitting across from him, and his hands were shaking. He looked nervous, for what he was about to tell Neil. He looked ragged, hair all musty, jaw splotched with dirt.

The hotdog Neil was eating was good; it was great, but Norman had to spoil it with a surprise revelation.

“Dipper—Dipper asked me to leave,” Norman said, and Neil could tell that his legs were shaking as well. “He asked me to run away with him, Neil. And I think I’m going.”

Neil’s eyebrows furrowed. “Woah, Norm. Did he—Did he say where to?”

“Nowhere.”

“He doesn't have a plan?”

“No—I mean—That’s what he said. We’re going nowhere. We’re just _going_. And, Neil—“ Norman smiled, and it looked so real, so raw, so sincere, despite his shaking hands. “I really like the idea of it,” Norman says. “I really do.”

“I don’t think you should go,” Neil says.

“Yeah—I mean, no—Yeah—It’s impractical, yeah.”

“But, Norman, uh—“ Neil put down his hotdog on the table, wipes his fingers with a tissue. “You know, from the looks of it, you’re not gonna listen to me anyway.”

“I know. I’m not. I’m leaving, Neil. I love him. And—And I’m leaving.”

The words were permanent, strong, leaving a substantial impact to Neil’s psyche.

Dipper Pines sure has it good, Neil thinks. Norman’s pretty much an amazing guy, with his ghost eyes, and his heart of fucking gold. Neil’s a tiny bit jealous of Dipper, truth be told.

Neil looks at the postcard and he slips it into his Kerouac book. He sends Courtney a text, because he has her to thank, for this, for bringing Norman back.

 

 

**3.**

They came to stay with her once, and she enjoyed it, seeing Dipper write play by play accounts of their cases on his hardbound journal, seeing Norman draw pictures of ghosts he claims to have seen with his third eye ( _yeah, right_ ). She also enjoyed the little game going on, between the two of them, as they were obviously smitten with each other, hopelessly so.

Her house has room for a whole family, a husband and a wife plus their precious kids. Wendy has no husband and no kids, only a dad who insisted on spoiling her and buying her a house while she takes her medical degree here in Minneapolis. The man told her that Corduroys barely make it to college, so the fact that she was becoming a doctor was worth buying a house for. Wendy just agreed, nodded, rolled her eyes, while her dad cried on her shoulder, while he gave her the deed to the house where she would stay, all alone, kind of depressed.

She doesn’t know how Dipper found out she lived here, but it was a pleasant surprise nonetheless, when she sees him at the door, his boyfriend behind him. They were dusty, ragged, in dire need of a shower

“Have you been keeping tabs on me, Pines?” Wendy asked, as Dipper sat with her on the couch, eating oatmeal from a bowl while Norman was upstairs taking a shower.

“N—No!” Dipper said, shaking his hands. “We just, uh, needed a place to stay, and uh, Mabel told me you were living in the area, so, yeah.”

“Getting tired of sleeping in a van?” Wendy said.

“Oh—Yeah, kind of. It kind of reeks, right now. We had to carry—uh—a bunch of stolen veal meat, and stuff. It’s a funny story, actually—“

“Save it,” Wendy said. “Tell me about that Norman guy. I mean, I know you’ve been running around with some dude for the past two years. But I didn’t know, you were running with a guy like _that_.” She could always ask about their shenanigans later. But, Norman. Norman was too urgent a subject to leave out at the last minute.

“W—What do you mean ‘a guy like that’?”

“I mean, he’s totally cute, Dipper. Don’t tell me you aren’t attracted to him. I saw it in your eyes, Pines.”

“Well—Uh—Yeah—He’s kind of, well—“ Dipper paused, and then he muttered, “ _He’s kind of my boyfriend_.”

Wendy’s eyes widened, and she grinned, dimples trying to break her cheeks.

She smacked Dipper’s legs.

She expected that Norman wouldn’t like her, would be a total ass to her, considering her history with Dipper, but she was pleasantly surprised, by his calmness, by the way he could joke around with her, by how he wasn’t a total ass to pseudo exes, like Dipper was. Dipper definitely scored on this one, she thought.

All three of them sit at her couch. She watched them, as Dipper geeked out about their case with the mysterious meat stealers and the mysterious factory murder. Technically, Dipper was telling _her_ the story, but it seemed his attention was centered on Norman. He grabbed Norman’s arm; he shook Norman’s shoulders.

Later, Dipper and Norman would be alone, with Dipper much quieter, with Norman just as quiet as ever, while a journal was filled out, while hot chocolate was gulped down their throats.

The next day, Wendy saw Dipper at her stove, cooking pancakes. She saw him as she stood by the doorway. She didn’t disturb him. She watched Norman as he walked behind him. She saw Norman wrap Dipper in an embrace from behind, kissing Dipper’s cheek, licking some pancake batter left on Dipper’s chin. Dipper didn’t laugh, didn’t push him away. Wendy saw his profile, his cheeks, his blush, his daydreamy look. It made her smile.

Dipper and Norman had their van cleaned up, that day. They spent some time sight seeing, and they spent some time with Wendy, ogling at her while she read her thick book on cardiology.

They left, the next day, and Wendy was back to her boring old life, with her boring old pursuit to be a medical doctor.

If she wanted to, she could easily revert back to old habits, join Dipper and Norman, say _fuck it, I’m gonna be a hobo_ , but she’s grown some sense, lost some romanticism.

She still gets texts from them, emails, postcards, calls. She gets to hear all about the adventures of P&B: Private Investigators. It makes Wendy happy, and she always feels nostalgic, remembering the 12-year-old boy in the silly hat who wanted to conquer adulthood, conquer Gravity Falls, learn the ins and outs of that horrid town.

Today, Wendy learns they’re going to Norman’s hometown, in a few days. She knows about Norman’s parents, how they were never exactly loving, how his dad was never really there when Norman needed him.

Wendy sighs, and she hopes for the best, for that boy, and his silly little boyfriend.

 

 

**4.**

He’s punched in the eye, not once, not twice, but four times, by a group of men wanting a refund, because they brought their families to this tourist trap, and they ended up seeing nothing but obviously fake exhibits.

Some people can be such fun sponges, Stan thinks. No one can take a joke, these days.

He lets Soos get the ice for his black eyes. He lies down on the couch, old and burly body limp from his one-sided brawl. He lies there and thinks about how the world is definitely out to get him. He’s Stanford Pines, for god’s sake. He’s an expert conman. He’s a paranormal expert. He’s got the power to go to other realms, if he wanted to, with the help of those stupid little journals. He doesn’t deserve to be beaten up.

An ice bag is dropped on his eyes, abruptly.

“Aw—What the—Soos!”

“Not Soos, Mabel.”

“W—“ Stan takes the bag off his face, and he looks to his side.

Mabel Pines stands there, grin big, sundress all pink and fancy.

“Hiya, old man,” she says.

Stan has to smile at the sight of her. It’s Mabel, the girl who could always make the old man smile.

“God, kid. W—When the hell did you get here?”

“Only an hour ago. Just thought I’d drop by.” She hops on the couch, sitting beside his feet. She sighs, “I was taking the bus back to L.A., but I thought, hey, what the hell, Gravity Falls is nice this time of year, yeah?”

Mabel explains. Mabel tells him about going to Massachussetts with Dipper and his boyfriend (“Boyfriend? Say what? Did I hear that right?”). She tells him about Dipper going to the Babcock house, knocking on the door, all nervous to stand in front of his boyfriend’s parents.

“Wait just a second. I still don’t get it. Dipper’s got a boyfriend?”

“Yeah, silly.” Mabel pats Stan’s legs. “They’re practically married.”

“What? Dipper? Are you sure you’re not joking, kid?”

“Nope,” Mabel says, smiling, biting her lip.

She says it was awkward, with her there. She felt out of place, and that says something, because she rarely feels anything of that nature. The dad was trying to make jokes, make small talk, though it was obvious he was uncomfortable, with all his sweat and his eyes that couldn’t look Dipper in the eye. The mom sat beside Dipper, fussing over him, giving him two slices of cake, attentively listening to the stories he tells about their cases. Mabel says that part was fun, until the dad said it felt a little like cheating, that Norman used his powers to solve their cases.

“Powers? What? What are you talking about?” Stan says, boggled, now holding the ice over his eyes.

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Mabel says. “Norman—Dipper’s boyfriend—well, he can see ghosts.”

“Oh—“ Stan nods. “Wait, what? This—Kid—This is getting weirder by the minute.” He pauses and he shakes his head. “And cases? What cases? Dipper’s some kind of cop or something?”

“I’ll get to that, dummy,” Mabel says. “Anyway—“ Mabel goes on and on, telling Stan about Norman crying on his sister, shouting that his dad still thought he was a freak. There was drama. Dipper was awkward, and so was she, the two of them sitting at the sidelines while everything happened.

But it ended well. They hugged it out. The dad gave a whole speech about how he was all proud and stuff, that Norman was using his god-given powers (“Yeah, Stan, he actually said that. _God-given_.”) to do good. The dad even hugged Dipper, tightly, while shedding a lot of tears. Dipper was like, “Ahaha, yeah, you’re a good guy too, Mr. Babcock.”

“I even gave him a hug myself, for good measure,” Mabel says.

Stan thinks this is all ridiculous. Dipper, a detective? Dipper, with a boyfriend? Dipper, with a boyfriend who could see ghosts?

“Wow—Uh—Wow.”

Stan smiles. The kid’s grown up. And Jesus, they’re not supposed to do that.

“I guess he got what he’s always wanted, right?” Stan says. “Adventures every single day, someone to love him, and all that jazz.”

Mabel giggles, “I guess he has.”

A little later, Mabel stands up and she pulls Stan’s arms, urging him to get up and join her outside, to go to the lake.

“C’mon, Stan. I didn’t come here for nothing!” she eggs. “Let’s go fishing! We can bring Soos’ boat. C’mooon.”

“Alright, alright, sheesh,” Stan concedes, after minutes and minutes of Mabel’s shrill nagging.

“Yipee!” Mabel says, jumping, running to the stock room to get the fishing rods.

Mabel still has much to tell him, she says. She still has some stories about Dipper and Norman, how they met, how they ran away together, how it took two years for Dipper to introduce the guy to her.

Stan, still bitter about his black eye, says, “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” though in truth, he’s kind of excited. It’s been such a long time, since he’s spent time with the kids. He remembers Dipper and Mabel, back then, with all their shenanigans he pretended not to notice. He remembers the book he stole from Dipper, and the grappling hook he gave to Mabel. Those were good times, he thinks.

At the lake, Stan listens carefully, tries to store every single detail. He really does think Dipper’s lucky. The kid reminds Stan of himself. Kind of. Not really.

“Has he ever mentioned me?” Stan asks Mabel, trying to feign an uncaring demeanor, just to save face.

Mabel says he has, and Stan huffs, holding back his smile.

 

 

**5.**

When they were in their second year of college, Dipper told her he had boyfriend, who he met sometime ago. He told her he was going to stay with him during the summer, at his house in Massachusetts. She was like, “Woah, woah. Where’s this all coming from, brochacho? Boyfriend? What? Where? Why haven’t I met him?”

It was movie night. Mabel was about to start gobbling up the popcorn. She was about to turn on the DVD player. They were watching Bridget Jones Diary tonight, which they were both excited for.

It had to wait, though, because _oh my god_.

“He’s lives pretty far away, Mabel. I met him at a, uh, convention, sometime ago."

“When? When exactly did you meet him?”

“A year and a half ago?”

“W—W—What? And you never told me?” She hit him, on the head, on the stomach, on the knee. “Are you serious?” She hit him. “Do you love him?” She hit him again. “Dipper, you dick!”

Mabel was shocked, to say the least. But she was also happy, grinning, shaking her brother for information.

He did in fact love the guy, though he hadn’t told him yet. Mabel said they had to be introduced, but Dipper said, “No. Not just yet.” He said after the summer, maybe he could bring Norman to California to meet everyone. Mabel made him promise.

Mabel asked him why he was telling her now of all times, and Dipper said he just couldn’t keep it a secret anymore. He needed someone to talk too. He really, really loved the guy, and keeping that to himself was getting too much.

“Oh, Jesus, Dipper.” She gives Dipper a noogie.

“Aw—Mabel—Let go—“

And so summer came, with Mabel hoping by the end of it, she’d meet her pseudo brother-in-law.

She didn’t, because apparently, they eloped. In a manner of speaking.

She only got an email explaining the situation. Months and months go by and all she got were emails sent through a phone. She read the stories Dipper told about the things they saw, about haunted houses, werewolves, a brutal murder at a dorm room, a stolen jewelry box, so many things that she could hardly believe. Somewhere there, in the middle of all the stories, she even learned that apparently, Dipper’s boyfriend can see ghosts, and _huh, that explains a lot_.

Mabel met Norman, a year later, when she found out they’d stopped by LA. Her mother told her, and she drove to the place her mother said their van was parked.

She didn’t meet Norman just yet. She had a few tricks up her sleeve, to mess with their heads. She left some notes on their windshield while they were sleeping, and she left a trail of star-shaped pieces of yellow paper for them to follow, to see whether they could recognize her figure from afar. She was wearing a trench coat, and glasses, very noir indeed.

Then, she met him. And he was wonderful.

Today, she lies down, relaxed, on a mat on the beach. She has her bikini and her sunglasses on, while she eyes this man, silently talking with this woman, both of them tall, blonde, and Russian.

“Why would murderers have a beach day?” Mabel says, onto the earpiece.

“I don’t know, okay,” Dipper says. “But I’m sure that’s them, Mabel. I’m sure of it. I saw them at the hotel. They were talking to the guy, like, an hour before he died. And that kind of reeks, you know.”

Dipper is trying to stay inconspicuous, trying not to make himself recognizable as the cult-famous private investigator, as he stands at a distance, wading in the ocean, in his flower shorts and his yellow sunglasses.

Mabel turns away from the couple to look at Dipper, his figure small in the distance.

“I don’t see the point of me watching them, bro,” Mabel says.

“Just—Just do it, Mabel. We need you to do it, okay?” Dipper says.

Mabel sighs.

She continues watching the Russian couple, as they ate their popsicles, as they played with a beach ball, as they made out under their umbrella. Mabel gets just a tiny bit exasperated, and it doesn’t help when she looks back at Dipper’s spot and sees he’s standing there, holding hands, with the love of his life.

Their arms swing together. Norman pulls Dipper to his chest. They kiss. Dipper’s arms slowly lift themselves around Norman’s neck.

Mabel wants to be furious. She wants to look furious. She wants her eyebrows to knit together and her eyeballs to release fire.

But, she doesn’t, because instead, she smiles.

She speaks on the earpiece, “I see what you’re doing there, Dipper. Not cool.”

“Oh—Oh fuck—Mabel! You’re supposed to be watching the Russian dudes, not us.”

Mabel looks at the Russian couple, and she sees they’re still at it, still lapping at each other’s mouths.

“They’re making out. Pretty hard. Is that enough evidence for murder?”

“Ugh, Mabel. Be serious. C’mon. Just—Just keep watching them.”

“And you, dear brother, should do something more productive than just standing there making out with your boyfriend.”

Mabel hears a loud laugh from the other end.

“N—Norman! It’s not funny! I’m on the watch too, Mabel.”

“One of you should be out there, checking if any ghosts know who, you know, did the thing.”

“Ugh—But—I want—Norman’s—“ He pauses. “Okay, he says he’s going.”

Mabel looks, and she sees Norman waving at her, giving her a salute. She salutes back, with a giggle.

Dipper’s left there, and he falls quiet for a whole hour. He only talks again once Mabel has a revelation, “Oh, god, Dipper, the woman has a gun in her bag. I saw it. Oh, wow. Oh. They’re making out again. Blech. But, yeah. Gun. Seriously. That’s a lead, right? Has Norman found anything?”

“Oh, shit, I think—uh—yeah—got a text—It’s Norman—Mabel. It’s them. It’s definitely them.”

Yet another case solved by P&B: Private Investigators and their awesome companion. All they have to do now is gather real evidence, gather some real witnesses, prove that this isn’t just hearsay. That’s the tricky part. Dipper’s here though, and Dipper’s an expert in that junk, so Mabel’s confident everything will turn out just right.

They leave again, on to wherever. Dipper and Norman say she could come, if she wants, but she refuses. Their life isn’t hers. It’s not for her.

Mabel lives in her own apartment in sunny L.A. She has a double degree in Fine Arts and Education, and she teaches kids how to color, draw, sketch, and paint.

She painted her walls herself, portraits of boybanders, portraits of characters from her favorite fiction. She also sewed most of her clothes herself, minimalistic at times, avant garde at others. She had the whole apartment tailored to her fancy, with the help of her parents, without any help whatsoever from her brother and his boyfriend.

Today, Mabel paints a picture of Russians making out.

Tomorrow, she’ll paint a picture of boys kissing on the beach.

On the next day, she’ll have her students try making portraits of someone they love.

Mabel receives yet another email from Dipper, telling her about a murder-slash-revenge plot by a scorned husband at a suburban community in Pennsylvania. Mabel replies by attaching a photo of the painting she finished, a simple one, water color strokes, of Dipper and Norman kissing on the beach.

She gets a reply, from Norman, not Dipper.

-

 **From:** Norman Babcock (normantheghostboy@gmail.com)

 **To:** Mabel Pines (waddles5ever@yahoo.com)

 **Subject:** !!!!!!

!!!!!!!!!!!

You are perfect.

-

Mabel smiles, and she sends her reply almost instantly.

-

 **From:** Mabel Pines (waddles5ever@yahoo.com)

 **To:** Norman Babcock (normantheghostboy@gmail.com)

 **Subject:** No, you are.

Let me guess, Dipper doesn’t like it. Boo, you dick.

-

 **From:** Dipper Pines (themanotaur@yahoo.com)

 **To:** Mabel Pines (waddles5ever@yahoo.com)

 **Subject:** Ugh

It was amazing, okay? I’m stealing it when we come to visit.

-

That was the whole point, Mabel thinks.

Mabel is smiling the whole day, the corners of her mouth almost touching her ears.

Dipper calls her up, in the middle of the night, and he explains that he can’t gush to her, while Norman’s around. “He’s asleep right now, so…” Dipper says they’re coming back there, as soon as possible, and that he’s too fucking ecstatic about the painting. “You’re a genius, Mabel. You really are.”

“Okay, Dipper, whatever you say,” she says.

Norman and Dipper are gone, but they always feel present to everyone they leave behind. Mabel hangs their portrait on the wall by her kitchen stove, and she looks at it every single day, thinks it’s moving, thinks it’s actually them in another universe across the canvas. It’s ridiculous, she knows, but it’s also probable.

“These damn boys,” she mutters, leaning down, staring straight into the figures at the center of the white sand beach. “They can never just leave me be, can they?”

 

 

**fin.**


End file.
